


blindsided

by seafoamblues



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, EXO (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blind Character, Blindness, Car Accidents, Depression, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Sharing a Bed, Writer's Block, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seafoamblues/pseuds/seafoamblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yifan may be the inspiration Kyungsoo needs to <i>(seelovelive)</i> write again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blindsided

**Author's Note:**

> ☼ originally posted at my [livejournal](http://seafoamblues.livejournal.com/) for the 2015 round of kyungsooperior. check out my lj for more fics!  
> ☼ (i haven't written krisoo in a year. that is WAY too long @____@;; my otp…)  
> ☼ after four/five different fic ideas, all of which ended up being Way Too Long and thus stored away for next year (maybe), i finally settled on this one.  
> ☼ no porn this time, sorry. :( (all though i was tempted to write emotional porn in the end bc GOD DAMN but it wouldn't really fit.) i've been writing too many kinky things lately and i need a break. x___x;;  
> ☼ i'm dedicating this to sugarystatic (krisoo senpai) ((again)) because she's a lovely person and her krisoo fics are inspirational and timeless. <3  
> ☼ this was sort of loosely inspired by lu han's new movie _the witness_ , but i've also wanted to write blind!soo for a while now.  
> ☼ (the writer's block in this fic is way too real, btw.)  
> ☼ thank you my dear friend oksana for looking this over for me!  
> ☼ you can read my krisoo for last year's kyungsooperior [here](http://seafoamblues.livejournal.com/8480.html)!

* * *

 

 _We have received news that popular romance novelist, pen name D.O., was involved in a serious car accident on October 22nd, 2012. The author has been working on their next major novel, which fans have anticipated for over a year. Sustaining debilitating injuries, D.O. is forced to cease writing indefinitely . . . ._  
  
  
  
The phone buzzes three times. It's not good to let it go past the third buzz, but he does it anyway.  
  
It's hard to get up when you no longer have the will.  
  
On the fifth buzz, Kyungsoo begrudgingly rolls over in bed, reaching blindly for his phone. He fumbles with it for a second before his thumb slides across the screen and silences it. The mechanically feminine voice of his phone greets him.  
  
"It is seven-oh-twelve A.M."  
  
_Fuck you,_ Kyungsoo thinks mildly, with no real venom to his thoughts.  
  
He stays in bed until 7:23, lying motionless beneath the sheets that have twisted around his body in his sleep. Kyungsoo slowly opens his eyes.  
  
With a soft groan of effort, he climbs out of bed and toes on his slippers. The sound of nails clicking on the wood floor enters his ears as his service dog, a golden Labrador named Chi Chi, pads up and starts licking his ankles.  
  
"Good morning, Chi Chi."  
  
Kyungsoo bends down and absentmindedly scratches Chi Chi behind his ear, patting the bristly nape of his neck. He switches the radio on and it starts briefing him on the weather as he shuffles his way toward the kitchen, touching the furniture for guidance.  
  
After Kyungsoo hears that today will be an overcast, slightly chilly 56 degrees Fahrenheit, the voice melts into a more soothing, lyrical one, as one of his favourite songs begins to play. Kyungsoo recognizes the singer as Lu Han, an emerging new artist. The words sung in Mandarin remind Kyungsoo of better days, and he quickly drowns any dredges of melancholy that threaten to stir in his heart with a cup of coffee.  
  
He works out the kinks in his neck and sits down at his desk with a refreshed cup of caffeine, fingers moving over the keys of his laptop. Kyungsoo finds his place like instinct, but the words won't come out. His fingers hover there for a minute, a centimeter above the small bumps dotting the keys. He occasionally taps out a few letters, then furiously jabs the backspace button several times with his index finger.  
  
The small apartment is silent except for the random bursts of typing. It used to be alive with a constant flurry of clacking keys, like the sound of heavy rain steadily drumming on a rooftop. Type and delete, type and delete. That's all it is these days.  
  
It's _hard_ , trying to push himself to write again. He smashes the keys out of anger, tears falling from his sightless eyes as he takes off his glasses and rubs at his forehead, massaging his temples with his fingertips as he tries to think. Tries to focus. He has too _much_ focus, and that's the problem. Nothing comes out of it.  
  
The glasses lie unused next to his jittering hand. He still wears his prescriptive lenses when he tries to write, thick rounded black rims, even though they don't do anything for him anymore. It's habit, he guesses. He used to need them before the accident. Now he considers removing them more often than he keeps them on, because they emphasize how useless his eyes are, with or without them.  
  
Following another one of the late morning breakdowns that regularly plague him, Kyungsoo searches for his phone and dials a familiar number.  
  
"Hey, buddy! How's the writing going?"  
  
When he told his editor he was going to try writing again, picking up where he left off on his manuscript he'd started three years ago, Junmyeon had been worried at first. With time, he became thrilled, although progress was stagnant. But as he noticed Kyungsoo's unending struggle, he'd suggested that maybe Kyungsoo should try writing something else, since the long hiatus appeared to have sucked the muse out of him. However, Kyungsoo's once bountiful well of inspiration seems to have run dry.  
  
"Swimmingly," Kyungsoo replies. The tone of his voice says it all.  
  
He hears Junmyeon's voice drop.  
  
"Hey, like I said before. If you need a longer break—"  
  
"It was never just a _break_ for me, Junmyeon," he says icily, through gritted teeth.  
  
Junmyeon gets it. He's usually slow on the uptake, but he means well.  
  
"I know, I know. I'm sorry."  
  
Kyungsoo feels a little bad for using his editor as a punching bag. Junmyeon has stuck with him for these three years following the crash, even though Kyungsoo hasn't written shit. He's supported him through the occasional phone call to check up on how he's doing and sends cards on the holidays. Junmyeon's been a constant in Kyungsoo's career, before and after the accident. Kyungsoo should be lucky to have a friend like him.  
  
"It's okay," Kyungsoo says lamely. "I just don't feel motivated like I used to."  
  
"Shouldn't your fans be motivation enough?"  
  
His fans have sent him letters of encouragement over the years, wishing for him to get better and saying that they miss his writing. Junmyeon handles the fan mail for him, reading each of them out loud to the author, since Kyungsoo can't read them himself.  
  
"They don't know me personally. It's like there's some sort of . . ." he struggles for words, just as he does when he tries to write.  
  
"Detachment? The consequence of being anonymous, I'd assume."  
  
"Something like that," Kyungsoo says.  
  
"Maybe you need to go out and meet new people," his editor suggests.  
  
Ah, Junmyeon. Always the optimist.  
  
"I don't think that's an option," Kyungsoo says as calmly as his voice will allow.  
  
"Think about it, okay? I think you might be lone—"  
  
"I'm hanging up now," Kyungsoo informs him, effectively cutting Junmyeon off before he can finish the words he doesn't want to hear. He sets his phone down and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes.  
  
It doesn't make any difference.

 

—

  
  
Kyungsoo has no need for people, he thinks, but books: books have potential.  
  
He decides to visit the local bookstore and buy a few books because they used to give him inspiration. He'd heard somewhere that a _real_ writer has to read first, write later. He doesn't want audio books; he wants _actual books_ that he can hold and touch, read without having to listen.  
  
Books, too, give him a chance to escape.  
  
Kyungsoo allows his service dog a break and takes the bus to the square alone, his cane in tow. The bell above the entrance jingles when he pushes the door open, followed by the slide of his cane tap tapping on the floor.  
  
One of the workers must have seen him standing there, staring confusedly off into space and altogether looking lost, and approaches him from the side.  
  
"Need help finding anything?"  
  
It's a deep rumble that grazes the insides of his ears, but it's not unpleasant. By the sound of his footfalls and the direction in which his voice is projecting, the man is very tall – at least six feet.  
  
"The Braille section, if you have one," Kyungsoo says, hating they way his voice sounds: all timid-like, not breezy and nonchalant like he'd intended. He hasn't gone shopping for books since before the accident, and since then the small bookstore has changed owners and undergone remodeling. Kyungsoo doesn't know if the store even _has_ a Braille section. It's not like he would have noticed before he went blind.  
  
He suddenly feels very stupid and, ultimately, helpless. A feeling he hates, but unfortunately experiences often. It's like he's exposed and isolated all at once.  
  
His cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but the reassuring sound of the employee's voice urges him to swallow down the lump quickly forming in his throat.  
  
"We do. Let me take you there."  
  
Kyungsoo senses a moment's hesitation hanging heavy in the air before he feels a light touch on his forearm. He'd been expecting it, but he flinches anyway. The large hand gently rests on his arm and Kyungsoo eventually loops his arm through the offered one. Even though he now has a guide, Kyungsoo moves his cane off to the side, sweeping it across the floor ahead of him so he doesn't trip or run into anything.  
  
He keeps his grip tight on the man's arm as he's led to the Braille section, slightly leaning against his tall, sturdy frame. Kyungsoo is hyperaware that he's very short compared to this man.  
  
The footsteps slow and Kyungsoo adjusts his own, slowing until the man stops at what Kyungsoo assumes is the Braille section.  
  
"Were you looking for anything specific?"  
  
"Just browsing," says Kyungsoo. The selection probably isn't very big, maybe only consisting of major titles and well-established authors.  
  
"Just let me know if you need anything. The genres and initials of the authors' last names are on the shelves."  
  
"Thank you," Kyungsoo says quietly.  
  
Hearing the man move away, he trails his fingers across the bookshelves, feeling out the different labels. Romance, mystery, horror. Austen, Grisham, Patterson, King. He traces the spines, hard and soft, taking some out and flipping through the pages, caressing the summaries on the back.  
  
  
Kyungsoo leaves with two books and returns two days later, having devoured them both in the short amount of time (and consequently getting no writing done). He's _tried_ – a little – but the words still come out forced. His next plan of action: acquire more books. Maybe he'll find the right ones this time.  
  
The same worker as before is there behind what Kyungsoo assumes is the counter, leafing through a book or magazine. He stops at once when he notices Kyungsoo.  
  
"Back again?" Kyungsoo might be wrong, but he detects a hint of amusement in the man's voice.  
  
He avoids responding for now, letting the man take his arm and lead him once more to the appropriate section. This time, the employee lingers closer than before when Kyungsoo is browsing. Two days ago he'd sensed the worker in the background, waiting for a cue to come to his rescue and try to answer any questions he had. He entertains the idea of dropping a book to see what the guy would do, but decides against it. He isn't that cruel. Kyungsoo bets he'd rush forward and pick it up for him, though.  
  
"Can I recommend something?" The warm voice is at his ear suddenly, too close. He can almost feel his breath on him. Kyungsoo startles. "This is one of my favourites."  
  
The man presses a book into Kyungsoo's unoccupied hands. He feels the front cover, fingers tracing out the Braille letters. _D.O._  
  
It's one of his; one that he'd written nearly four years ago.  
  
Kyungsoo immediately hands it back.  
  
"I don't like that author," he says. "His prose is stale and his plots are too idealistic."  
  
"Oh," the worker says, and Kyungsoo can imagine his tall stature drooping slightly. "I see." He shelves the book, returning it to its proper place.  
  
After Kyungsoo checks out (three books this time – three should do the trick), the same employee catches his arm before he can leave. The touch is so gentle, as though Kyungsoo would break if he applied more pressure.  
  
"Can I buy you a drink? What would you like?"  
  
The idea confuses Kyungsoo for a moment. Why would this local bookstore employee want to buy him, of all people, a drink? Does he pity him?  
  
He must, Kyungsoo thinks. But he also thinks, _What the hell._  
  
"A cappuccino would be wonderful," Kyungsoo says.  
  
The man directs him to a small table at the store's tiny café and has him sit down. He tells him he'll be right back and Kyungsoo sits there waiting for him obediently, his cane leaning against the table.  
  
It only takes a few minutes before the worker is back. "One cappuccino," he announces proudly, sitting the beverage before him. He nudges it into Kyungsoo's hand and Kyungsoo brings the ceramic mug to his lips, taking a sip. The steamed milk froth is delicious.  
  
"You made this yourself?"  
  
"I work in the café sometimes too," the man says.  
  
Kyungsoo learns that the man's name is Yifan, and he's a college student working at the local bookstore to get him through school. He's majoring in Marketing and has just recently turned twenty-two years old. Kyungsoo is thirty-four.  
  
Yifan works another job on the weekends as a bartender for the evening shift. "It gets really crazy sometimes," Yifan says. "Last week a girl was so wasted that she was dancing on the counter and fell. She cracked two vertebrae in her neck, broke an arm and a leg. She could have been paralyzed, or worse."  
  
Kyungsoo isn't sure why Yifan has taken interest in him. It could be because he's never seen a blind person before, but he hasn't shown any curiosity about Kyungsoo's condition. He's been polite without being excessively formal. Kyungsoo decides Yifan is just a friendly person.  
  
"I – I wish you could see the foam art," Yifan says, referring to the drink. "I drew it without even thinking."  
  
Or maybe he had been thinking, Kyungsoo muses. Maybe he'd wanted to impress him.  
  
_Don't flatter yourself, Kyungsoo._  
  
Yifan laughs at himself. "It's okay, though. It's a little messy. I'm out of practice. Oh well."  
  
"What is it?" Kyungsoo inquires.  
  
"It's an owl," Yifan says brightly. "You have big eyes. Like an owl."  
  
Kyungsoo is silent. Yifan probably thinks he's said the wrong thing, commenting on a blind man's eyes. He clears his throat.  
  
"You have a little – here," Yifan says.  
  
There's the dull scrape of the chair being dragged across the floor as Yifan stands and leans over the table, wiping the foam off Kyungsoo's upper lip with his thumb.  
  
Kyungsoo looks back at him in shock.  
  
"Sorry," Yifan apologizes.  
  
"It's okay," Kyungsoo says, his voice sounding distant in his own ears.  
  
Once Kyungsoo finishes his coffee, Yifan quickly comes around to pull his chair out for him and hands him his cane. Kyungsoo makes a noise of appreciation, his hands still shaking from the unexpected touch.  
  
"How did you get here?" Yifan asks him.  
  
"I took the bus."  
  
"I'm off in five minutes," Yifan says. "Can I take you home?"  
  
"I can handle myself, thanks."  
  
Yifan offers Kyungsoo his number anyway. Kyungsoo doesn't exactly know why, but he stores it in his phone and reluctantly gives the young man his number in return.  
  
"If you need anything, just give me a call."  
  
He feels like taking a nap. Today was the most he'd interacted with people in years, besides his old friends and family.  
  
When he gets home and climbs into bed, Chi Chi a large warm bump curled at his feet, Kyungsoo finds that he can't sleep. Yifan's charming voice keeps running lines through his head. He lies there for hours until he finally closes his eyes and drifts off.

 

—

  
  
Days later, Kyungsoo is trying to write again. It's pathetic to even consider what he does as trying, since literally _nothing_ happens. He's read all of his new books and something keeps stopping him from moving on. Kyungsoo doesn't just have writer's block: he has a mental block. He needs to clear some things out of the way before he can move on.  
  
It's what Junmyeon's been telling him for years now, but he's finally going to do something about it.  
  
His phone rings at just the right time. He expects to hear Junmyeon's name, but the blank voice of his phone butchers a Chinese name instead. _Yifan_.  
  
Kyungsoo scrambles for the device, nearly knocking it off his desk. Chi Chi whines and wags his tail worriedly at his owner's haste, and Kyungsoo lifts the phone to his ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi," comes Yifan's voice. Kyungsoo's ear vibrates with it. "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time?" Yifan asks, almost sheepishly.  
  
Kyungsoo blinks. He hadn't been doing anything particular, as he'd already given up trying to write for the day.  
  
"Not really," Kyungsoo tells him.  
  
"I was just wondering if you needed anything? Like, um . . . if I could help you with anything, or something."  
  
"This isn't the bookstore, Yifan. This isn't your job," Kyungsoo says. Some people – very few people – have the mentality that they're always obligated to help people. It's probably worse when the person they're trying so hard to help has a disability. Yifan must be one of those people.  
  
"I know. But—"  
  
"Actually, there is something you could do for me," Kyungsoo admits.  
  
"What is it?" Yifan's voice brightens considerably.  
  
"Spring cleaning," Kyungsoo says. It's late fall, nearing winter.  
  
Kyungsoo ends up inviting Yifan over because he wants help moving some boxes out. His older brother lives too far away, and his best friends, Chanyeol and Jongdae, are out of town. Kyungsoo's mother isn't an option; she's too old, and if _she_ came over, she would try to clean Kyungsoo's entire apartment with her arthritic hands. These days he can only stand being with her for a couple hours, tops.  
  
Yifan seems strong, and Kyungsoo doesn't require a whole lot of strength for this chore. He just needs help getting the boxes out. Some of them Kyungsoo doesn't want to touch.  
  
"I'll text you the address. It's not far from the bookstore."  
  
"You can do that?"  
  
". . . Do what?"  
  
"Text? On your phone?"  
  
Kyungsoo blinks. "I have speech-to-text and vice versa. Like most people."  
  
"Oh. I didn't know that." Yifan groans. Kyungsoo would be lying if he said it didn't sound nice. "I'm sorry, I sound really stupid right now."  
  
Kyungsoo grins a little. He's glad Yifan isn't there to see it.  
  
"It's fine."  
  
Kyungsoo hangs up and recites the address to his phone, has it read it back to him so he can check for any mistakes. The mechanical tone and lack of nuances echoes hollowly in his ears. He misses hearing Yifan's voice, which holds more liveliness than the computerized voice Kyungsoo has grown accustomed to.  
  
He falls asleep that night clutching a torn photograph that he keeps beneath his pillow. It's black and white and looks like there used to be someone else in the picture before they were ripped away. A young Chinese boy smiles through the glossed surface, his dark eyes crinkled and catching the light.  
  
Chi Chi whines and licks Kyungsoo's hand, sniffing at the old photograph. His owner has slept with it every night since the accident.

 

—

  
  
"Sorry to invite you over just to make you do slave labour," Kyungsoo jokes.  
  
"It's all right. I'm the one that asked."  
  
Yifan comes over the next day. Kyungsoo had heard the gurgling roar of his motorbike pull up to the apartment building, inwardly wincing. He'd known someone that owned a motorbike, and would hear the same sounds every day.  
  
Kyungsoo's Labrador walks up to Yifan, curiosity shining in his liquid brown eyes. The canine watches Yifan's face stretch into a wide grin, beaming down at him, and he wags his tail hopefully. Yifan bends down and starts petting him excitedly, speaking to him in the tone that many people lapse into when talking to animals. Kyungsoo feels his shoulders relax with minute relief, hearing Chi Chi plop down on the floor and roll over for belly rubs.  
  
"I have a puppy at home named Rou Rou. He's my son," Yifan babbles. "We should set up play dates for them sometime. I mean, since Chi Chi is a service dog and all, people aren't allowed to pet and play with him while he's working, right? I mean, I'm sure you play with him when you're at home, but I think Rou Rou would be a good companion—"  
  
Kyungsoo is amused by Yifan's unsuppressed excitement, blundering over and mixing up his words and thoughts. He smiles faintly.  
  
"That sounds like a good idea," he agrees.  
  
He eventually manages to get Yifan to tear himself away from the dog, Chi Chi following at his heels. Kyungsoo leads him to his bedroom closet where several large boxes are stacked on top of each other. They're full of photographs that he'd taken before he went blind, back when he dabbled in photography. It was one of his passions, like writing had been.  
  
"All of these are yours?" Yifan asks softly, surprised. The top box is opened slightly and he can probably see some of the photographs peeking out.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What are you going to do with them?"  
  
"Toss them," Kyungsoo says dismissively. "You're going to help me move them to the dumpster downstairs."  
  
He hears the muted flapping noise of a photograph being taken out of the box and examined.  
  
"What a waste," Yifan says. "They're great."  
  
"I can't see them anymore," Kyungsoo says plainly.  
  
"But other people can. They can still appreciate the beauty in these photographs."  
  
"I don't want them here. They're just taking up space," Kyungsoo reaffirms.  
  
"Listen, I know. They make you feel sad that you can't take pictures anymore. But if you'd just take a second to think about—"  
  
"I've taken three years to think about this, Yifan," Kyungsoo coldly cuts him off. "I think that's long enough." He pushes forward and past the tall man, lifting the first box. "Don't assume things about me."  
  
It gets Yifan to shut up, and they don't talk much after that. While they work, Yifan tries asking some harmless questions to lighten the mood, but Kyungsoo is stiff and his responses are curt.  
  
After the last box is hauled into the dumpster outside his apartment, Yifan takes off. Later that night, Kyungsoo thinks he misses the loud roar of the motorbike, but he's not sure.  
  
He remembers being on the back of a motorbike, with arms outstretched as if trying to take flight. He'd wanted to leave everything behind.

 

—

  
  
It takes him a while to apologize, but Yifan texts him a couple days later when Kyungsoo doesn't show up at the bookstore or try contacting him.  
  
_"I'm sorry about what I said the other day. I didn't mean to upset you.  
Can I cook you dinner?"_  
  
Kyungsoo ends up caving and accepts the offer, wondering when he last had a decent meal that wasn't microwaveable. He doesn't know how well Yifan can cook, but he makes a damn good cappuccino, so that must count for something.  
  
Yifan comes over that night, his hands full of rustling grocery bags. He greets Chi Chi first, who swishes his tail while begging for pets. Yifan disappears into the kitchen for a while as Kyungsoo sits on his couch, trying to respond to an email Chanyeol's sent him from Beijing. The chat notification pops up on the display with a ding.  
  
_"Hey how r u doin!!!!!!!!! Jongdae and I miss you!!!!!! :D:D:D wish u were here.  
u should have come w us"_  
  
Chanyeol has a penchant for excessive exclamation marks and other punctuation, which has always gotten on the writer's nerves. For a thirty-one year old, Chanyeol still types like a preteen. Kyungsoo has since learned to block punctuation recitation out of his text-to-speech generator. He has several different voices installed and uses the deepest-sounding one available, Minho, for Chanyeol. It's the closest match to Chanyeol's baritone. Kyungsoo just has to imagine Chanyeol's animated tone overlaying the computerized voice.  
  
_"Sorry. I have to concentrate on writing."_  
  
Honestly, he _does_ need to concentrate on writing, even though he's struggling significantly. The last time he went on vacation with Chanyeol and Jongdae was almost four years ago, and the highlight of the trip was when the couple had obnoxiously loud sex through the hotel walls. Kyungsoo is still scarred from the experience, as he was unwillingly exposed to Chanyeol's low moans and Jongdae's high keens.  
  
Kyungsoo had returned the gesture. The noises had turned Kyungsoo's lover on, and Kyungsoo had fucked him with just as much vigor as the two going at it next door. He can still feel his partner's strong arms wrapped warm around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. His drawn-out moans, the slide of his tongue inside Kyungsoo's mouth, his legs—  
  
_Fuck._ Kyungsoo bites his lip and clenches his fist, trying to force the phantom images out of his head.  
  
_"Booooooo!!! that's a crappy excuse bc I kno u aint writin shit but I'll let it slide. so tell me about bookstore guy!!!! :D u said hes there right now?????"  
  
"Yes, he's cooking me dinner."  
  
"oMG! Is he handsome????????? :D:D:D"  
  
"How would I know?"  
  
"he's probably rly ugly and went after u bc u cant see what he looks like hahahaha. jk Lol!"  
  
"Thanks, Chanyeol. Anyway, I don't think he's even into men."  
  
"uh dude u never kno! whats his name? I can look him up on facebook"_  
  
The last thing Kyungsoo wants Chanyeol to do is look Yifan up on Facebook and pester him.  
  
_"No, you'll try to friend him."  
  
"Uh duh bc I am everyones friend!!! I will send a msg first  
plssssssssssss"_  
  
Kyungsoo eventually relents and gives Chanyeol his name. He knows Chanyeol won't stop bothering him until he does. _Sorry, Yifan,_ he thinks. Chanyeol had _better_ not try anything stupid when Kyungsoo isn't there to strangle him.  
  
Admittedly, Kyungsoo _is_ curious as to what Yifan may look like.  
  
_"OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he is HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11  
BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
he might even b hotter than Jongdae!! damn!  
hey!!!!!  
WHOOPS sorry that was Jongdae hehe ok but STILL. also it says on his profile that hes interested in women AND men! M E N"  
  
"It doesn't matter. He's too young, Chanyeol."  
  
"When has that ever stopped u?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! how old???"  
  
"He's 22."  
  
"oh. so he's zitao's age when he…………….. well anyway, dont let that get u down!! U deserve to be happy."_  
  
Kyungsoo huffs at his computer screen. Chanyeol is so over the top sometimes. Is his friend suggesting that he should _date_ Yifan? Or that Yifan is even interested in him? Kyungsoo is still convinced that Yifan only pities him.  
  
_"I hear trouble in the kitchen. Be back later."  
  
"Go and enjoy your fancy homemade meal! Youve earned it buddy.  
Jongdae says 'Go get em tiger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'"_  
  
Kyungsoo exits out of the chat and shakes his head. He's known Chanyeol and Jongdae since college, and he's amazed he's still friends with them. He's amazed that _they've_ put up with him for this long. Especially after . . . .  
  
The occasional rattle of a pan or the crashing of pots, followed by a quiet _"Oops"_ is too distracting for him to concentrate on anything else, even with his ear buds in. Kyungsoo thinks he knows his way around the kitchen better than Yifan, and he can't even see.  
  
"Maybe we should just order something," Kyungsoo says, starting to feel nervous as he stalls in the kitchen doorway.  
  
"No way. I'm cooking my famous Fettuccine Alfredo for you."  
  
Kyungsoo unconsciously licks his lips, eyes widening slightly in hunger. Yifan laughs.  
  
"See? Now go relax and wait until it's done."  
  
"I can't help you at all?"  
  
"Well," Yifan considers. "You can help me cook the noodles if you want?"  
  
Kyungsoo prepares the pasta dutifully ("They have to be slightly _al dente_ ," Yifan instructs) as Yifan stirs the alfredo sauce. The two men are at close proximity because Kyungsoo has a tiny stove, and although Kyungsoo initially felt like Yifan would be in the way, he enjoys his company. He's a large, constant presence at his side, like a pillar. As they work, Yifan will sometimes playfully bump into him and catch Kyungsoo off guard (though not enough to startle him and burn himself).  
  
Yifan hums as he cooks, a slightly off-key jumble of Chinese ballads, and Kyungsoo thinks he recognizes a few of them.  
  
The dish is perfect. The noodles are just the right consistency and the sauce is creamy and decadent. Yifan also prepared garlic bread, which melted right in Kyungsoo's mouth, filling it with butter and fragrant garlic. Kyungsoo even asks for seconds, much to Yifan's delight.  
  
"I thought university students only knew how to cook ramyun these days," Kyungsoo jokes.  
  
"Even cooking ramyun takes some skill," Yifan says. "I cook mine in a pot, not the microwave." He sounds a tiny bit prideful when he informs Kyungsoo of this, and Kyungsoo thinks it's endearing.  
  
After they clean up the kitchen together, they sit back on the couch, giving their stomachs time to digest their food.  
  
They talk for a while about nothing in particular. Kyungsoo basks in Yifan's quiet companionship, appreciating how demure he can be while still maintaining conversation. Kyungsoo hears the couch crunch as Yifan turns to him.  
  
"What do you think I look like?" he suddenly asks, out of the blue.  
  
"Horribly disfigured."  
  
Kyungsoo can imagine Yifan's mouth falling open.  
  
"You can't be serious."  
  
The blind man smirks.  
  
"Devastatingly handsome, I'd assume," Kyungsoo amends.  
  
Yifan snorts out a laugh.  
  
"I don't wanna pry, or sound rude or ignorant or anything, but do you ever wonder what some people look like? Like, do you ever ask them?"  
  
Kyungsoo thinks about it for a moment. "I've never asked. Most of the people I know, I already know what they look like," Kyungsoo explains. Chanyeol is always quick to point out when he gets a hair cut, just to "keep Kyungsoo informed." Kyungsoo doesn't really care, but he guesses it's nice that Chanyeol considers his disability. Since the accident, he hasn't really _met_ anyone; Yifan is a first. Usually no one is interested, or Kyungsoo simply doesn't care to put forth the effort to begin a new relationship.  
  
He guesses he is a little lonely. He's always been introverted, but his blindness has made him downright reclusive.  
  
Kyungsoo imagines Yifan sitting there, but he doesn't know what he looks like. Besides tall. _And hot,_ he thinks with slight annoyance, remembering how Chanyeol had gushed about him. He knows Chanyeol isn't lying, because it isn't like his friend to trick a blind man.  
  
"Well, if you want to ask any questions, you can? I mean, if you want to," Yifan says, trying to sound casual.  
  
"I would maybe like to try something," Kyungsoo speaks up, matching the edge of nervousness in Yifan's voice.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Can I . . ." Kyungsoo hesitates, holding back a wince at how awkward his request may sound. "Can I maybe feel your face?"  
  
There's a beat before Yifan gives him his answer.  
  
"Go ahead," he says.  
  
Kyungsoo slowly maneuvers himself closer to Yifan, who helps guide him into his lap. He sort of straddles his thighs and gulps, realizing what an intimate position they're in. The air is heavy around them, and at this angle, Kyungsoo can hear Yifan breathing.  
  
"What colour is your hair?" he asks.  
  
"I dyed it blond."  
  
"And your eyes?"  
  
"Brown."  
  
Kyungsoo lifts his hands, aware of how badly they're shaking, and Yifan grabs hold of his wrists to steady them and direct his hands to his cheeks first – probably to avoid accidentally poking him in the eye.  
  
He takes his time mapping Yifan's face out, inhaling when Yifan exhales, his sensitive fingertips grazing soft skin. He feels every bump and every blemish, the minute stubble on Yifan's jaw tickling his fingertips. Kyungsoo traces his fingers over thick brows, a smooth forehead, a strong nose. His fingers trail down a slender jawline that narrows into an elongated, prominent chin.  
  
"Your chin is huge," Kyungsoo comments, a hint of amusement in his voice.  
  
Yifan makes a small noise of acknowledgement but doesn't speak. He's too caught up in the moment, letting Kyungsoo explore his features.  
  
Kyungsoo touches Yifan's lips last. His upper lip isn't as well-defined as his lower one, but they're both still plush and slightly chapped. He wonders what it's like to kiss Yifan.  
  
He withdraws his trembling hands, lowering them to his sides.  
  
They spend a pregnant moment of silence, simply listening to each other breathe.  
  
"I was wondering if you could do something for me in return," Yifan says quietly.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Could you . . . could you take a look at this? Please?"  
  
Kyungsoo barely bats an eye at his word choice. Yifan is pressing something into his hands. It's a book, he realizes. A ratty paperback, like it's been read hundreds of times.  
  
The book isn't in Braille, but he traces the raised letters on the front anyway. The title reads _Lavender Dreams_.  
  
He freezes. The dread that follows in the wake of his revelation trickles into his chest and constricts his heart like icy claws.  
  
It's the first book he'd ever published. A very small amount was manufactured and the title was only released in paperback.  
  
"I've known who you are since the first day I saw you . . . D.O.," Yifan says softly.  
  
Kyungsoo swallows, his throat dry and tight, so he can find the words to speak.  
  
"How did you know?" He'd never given Yifan his last name.  
  
"Your photo is on the back cover."  
  
"Oh." Kyungsoo had forgotten about that. His first novel was the only one that showed his photo, printed black and white on the back flap. After that, he'd decided to remain completely anonymous.  
  
And that's how he's stayed ever since. Anonymous.  
  
"It's a good picture," Yifan says. "Did you take it?"  
  
"No." He doesn't want to think about who did. A head full of black hair, kittenish lips, telling him to smile . . . .  
  
"When I heard about the accident and your hiatus, I was very sad . . . you're one of my favourite authors. I couldn't believe it when I saw you in the bookstore that day. D.O., after three years, shows up in my little town. Mine." Yifan's throat clicks audibly as he swallows, emotion brimming in his voice. "I must say, I'm a fan."  
  
"Yifan . . . I'm not writing anymore," Kyungsoo reveals, and he sounds miserable. He _feels_ miserable. He'd never expected his identity to be exposed, photo or no. He figured only his diehard fans would have that book, but then again, they would be the ones most likely to find out.  
  
"I know," Yifan says, gently cupping the side of Kyungsoo's face with a hand. Its sheer size dwarfs his face. Kyungsoo feels like crying, holding back his tears from spilling over. "And that's okay."  
  
"I just hate feeling so useless in more ways than one," Kyungsoo chokes out. He feels so small on Yifan's lap, so vulnerable. There's only darkness around him.  
  
"You are _not_ useless," Yifan presses on, his voice firm. "You're still alive."  
  
Kyungsoo sniffs. I'm _still alive, and that's the most selfish thing I've done,_ he thinks. _While I'm still alive,_ he _isn't._  
  
"I think I liked your writing so much because you wrote when you were in love," Yifan tells him.  
  
Kyungsoo sucks in a shaky breath, taken aback by Yifan's comment but trying to regain his composure. His hands are folded in his lap and still they tremble.  
  
"How could you tell?" he asks, his voice lowered.  
  
"It was so inspired," Yifan says. "Such beautiful writing. Your words flowed like poetry. I might have cried a few times just reading them." Yifan chuckles, but it holds certain sadness. "Everything had meaning."  
  
"Nothing I write has meaning anymore," Kyungsoo whispers. Yifan's thumb strokes his cheek.  
  
"You'll find it," Yifan tells him, "eventually."  
  
"You just have to be looking in the right place."

 

—

  
  
It's one week later and Kyungsoo wants to try something. He calls Yifan over and they watch a movie together (Kyungsoo listens). The movie is one Kyungsoo has seen plenty of times before so he still remembers everything. It's nice to see all the images play in his head during each scene, as if he were really watching it.  
  
He's hyperaware of Yifan's arm pressed against his own, and although it makes his nerves jitter around in his chest like thousands of fireflies, he feels strangely relaxed.  
  
When the credits are rolling by, Kyungsoo tells Yifan his request. The younger man yawns dramatically, stretching his long arms and narrowly avoiding hitting Kyungsoo in the face.  
  
"Can you bring me my laptop?"  
  
Yifan hoists himself off the couch and leaves Kyungsoo's side momentarily to fetch his computer. He returns and Kyungsoo powers it up, placing it on the coffee table in front of him.  
  
Kyungsoo used to have a young lover, a boy that would rest his head on Kyungsoo's lap as he wrote. His presence had been comforting; it lulled Kyungsoo into the mood to write. The boy's even breathing as he slept would direct the flow of his writing. He would drift off next to Kyungsoo in bed, sleeping soundly despite Kyungsoo typing away. His head would rest against his shoulder and Kyungsoo would wake up in the morning to a head of black hair.  
  
"I always used to write really well when someone was near me," Kyungsoo admits. "It helped get me started." He pauses. "I'm bad at writing alone."  
  
"Can I help you write?"  
  
"If you want to," Kyungsoo says after a beat.  
  
"I want to. Just tell me what to do."  
  
Kyungsoo swallows, pushing forward with his request. "Could you . . . just . . . rest your head on my legs?"  
  
If this is an odd favour, Yifan doesn't show it. Not that Kyungsoo can see if he does. The younger man doesn't complain, at least, even though he doesn't react right away.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes. If you're comfortable with it, anyway."  
  
Yifan complies, shifting his long body to lie horizontally on the couch and obediently settling the back of his head on Kyungsoo's lap. The weight on his lap is a familiar, welcome feeling, and Kyungsoo forces himself to relax and starts typing.  
  
"I think I might fall asleep," Yifan says after a few minutes.  
  
"That's okay."  
  
It doesn't take long for Kyungsoo to get back in the zone, a place he hasn't visited for over three years. As he's typing away he hears Yifan's breathing even out as he falls asleep. When Kyungsoo pauses to think after getting the most writing done that he's written in years, he unconsciously threads his fingers through Yifan's thick, coarse hair, just like he used to do with his former boyfriend.  
  
Kyungsoo sighs.  
  
"Thank you, Yifan."

 

—

  
  
_"Look at this one, Kyungsoo!"  
  
Zitao has puppies on his mind. Now that they've officially moved in together, his boyfriend is bound and determined to raise a puppy together.  
  
"I can't right now, Taozi. I'm driving." He keeps his hands steady on the steering wheel, eyes staring straight ahead and observing traffic. Zitao had suggested they take his motorbike, but Kyungsoo doesn't want to drive to a nice restaurant on the thing. Maybe we'll take it out later, he thinks. Nighttime drives into the city and then a trip to the countryside are the best. He likes the closeness of sharing the bike, the intimacy, his arms wrapped tightly around Zitao's middle and his face pressed into the back of his jacket, breathing in leather and cologne.  
  
Zitao pulls the phone away and falls back into his seat with a pout.  
  
"I know. But she's_ sooo _cute. We could name her Candy. She looks like a Candy," he says.  
  
"What breed is she?"  
  
"Maltese. We can pick her up at the shelter tomorrow," Zitao babbles, excitement building in his voice.  
  
"Tomorrow, then," Kyungsoo says with a slight grin tugging at his lips.  
  
He continues driving for the next few minutes before a car blindsides them. He hears Zitao screaming as their car spins several times, shattered glass flying in his face. Zitao stops screaming when their car collides with the guardrail, and a deafening_ _crunch is all Kyungsoo hears before he can't hear anymore and he blacks out.  
  
It was reported that the driver of the minivan had been distracted when she crashed into their car. It cost Kyungsoo his eyesight, and Zitao, his life._

 

—

  
  
Kyungsoo finishes thirty pages before he feels drained for the night. His eyelids are heavy, and if he could still see, his vision would be blurred considerably. Yifan is still sleeping on his lap. He wants to move to his bed but doesn't want to wake Yifan, who is sleeping so peacefully.  
  
He slowly closes his laptop and the noise makes Yifan stir.  
  
"Mmh . . . are you finished?" he asks groggily. His voice is hoarse when he wakes up, and it sends a pang to Kyungsoo's heart.  
  
"Yes," Kyungsoo whispers.  
  
"Can I stay the night?"  
  
Yifan seems to be too tired to go back to his place, and Kyungsoo doesn't even take the time to consider his request. He's done enough for him. Kyungsoo owes him.  
  
"Of course," Kyungsoo says.  
  
Yifan slides into bed next to him, burying himself beneath the covers. He slings his arm around Kyungsoo's side and Kyungsoo barely flinches. Yifan falls asleep almost instantly after that, and Kyungsoo follows soon after.  
  
When Kyungsoo wakes up in the morning, the sound of Yifan's soft breathing greets him.  
  
He's missed falling asleep and waking up next to a warm body.

 

—

  
  
Yifan visits him a few days later and they follow a similar routine. Yifan falls asleep on his lap again as he writes, and Kyungsoo takes pity on him and lets the man sleep in his bed once more, out of sheer gratitude.  
  
Maybe he's growing fond of Yifan, because when Yifan curls up next to him that night, he curls _around_ him, cuddling the smaller man more than last time. And Kyungsoo lets him do it, despite his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. His heartbeat is so loud that he fears it'll wake him.  
  
But this time, Yifan is not there when he wakes up.  
  
Kyungsoo fights back the rising sense of panic gripping his heart. The feeling of loneliness is overwhelming, swallowing him whole in the emptiness surrounding him. It's not unlike what he'd felt after he lost Zitao.  
  
He calls out Yifan's name before he can stop himself, his voice quaky and thick with anxiety.  
  
"Yifan?"  
  
"In the kitchen!"  
  
He falls back into bed with relief. If Yifan hadn't left the first time, why would he leave the second time?  
  
Kyungsoo makes his way into the kitchen, his hand gripping the furniture along the way for purchase. Yifan is frying something and it smells _wonderful_.  
  
"You're just in time," Yifan says. "I made breakfast."  
  
"What is it?" He smells eggs cooking, his mouth watering in anticipation.  
  
"My world-famous omelets. My mom cries over these."  
  
Kyungsoo giggles into his hand.  
  
"You think it's funny? It's not! The extra saltiness ruins the omelets!"  
  
"I won't cry," Kyungsoo says, taking a seat at the kitchen table.  
  
"You'd better not," Yifan warns him.  
  
The smell of coffee finds its way into Kyungsoo's nose and he breathes in, closing his eyes. Yifan sets a mug of cappuccino before him along with his plate of breakfast.  
  
"What did you draw this time?" Kyungsoo asks, joking.  
  
"You have to guess."  
  
Kyungsoo pretends to peer intently down at the cup.  
  
"A heart?"  
  
Yifan doesn't say anything at first. Then, "How did you know?"  
  
There's a sliver of apprehension in Yifan's voice, as though he's truly wondering if Kyungsoo is able to somehow see the delicate latte art design.  
  
Kyungsoo takes a sip. "A lucky guess."  
  
Yifan takes a seat opposite of Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo can sense his eyes on him. He takes a bite of the omelet and feels like melting into his chair.  
  
"I'm sorry if I cuddled you to death last night," Yifan says.  
  
"I'm still alive," Kyungsoo assures him.  
  
He hears the telltale scrape of Yifan's chair dragging across the floor. It's like the bookstore all over again, except they aren't strangers this time.  
  
"You've got something," Yifan says, and Kyungsoo wonders vaguely, _Is it your heart?_  
  
When he feels Yifan's thumb brush the curve of his upper lip, Kyungsoo grabs hold of Yifan's wrist and keeps it from moving. He knows this is some grade A cliché shit like the stuff he used to watch in Korean dramas, but he can sense Yifan's face close to his and he blindly leans forward to meet him.  
  
He's going to look like a fucking idiot if Yifan doesn't kiss him.  
  
Their lips touch briefly at first, tentative. Yifan's lips are warm and slightly chapped, just as they were when Kyungsoo had traced them with his fingers. Then Yifan moves his mouth to fit over Kyungsoo's, more firmly this time, deepening the kiss. Kyungsoo kisses him back just as willingly, Yifan's lips sliding over his.  
  
They part after a few moments, breathing each other in, their lips only a breadth away from touching again.  
  
Yifan uses his hand – which Kyungsoo is still gripping tightly – to stroke his cheek.  
  
"I like you," Yifan murmurs.  
  
Kyungsoo thinks this is what falling in love all over again feels like: the fluttering of his heart and the quickening of his pulse. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed the night again," Kyungsoo says.  
  
"Rou Rou would kill me. Can I bring him over?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Kyungsoo can't see it, but the gummy grin Yifan gives him would be enough to blind him a second time.

**Author's Note:**

> ☼ i can't believe i killed half of my other otp sobs  
> ☼ "He remembers being on the back of a motorbike, with arms outstretched as if trying to take flight. He'd wanted to leave everything behind." are lines totally ripped from "brothers on a hotel bed" by death cab for cutie.  
> ☼ i sincerely apologize for any inaccuracies!  
> ☼ leave a comment and let me know what you thought! this is the longest fic i've written in almost two years. :( laaaame.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] blindsided by seafoamblues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643967) by [theblueintheday (bluedreaming)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/theblueintheday)




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